The Outsiders
And so, keeping my head high, I walked away. For the rest of Faolcairn, it was an ordinary Friday afternoon. Children, still dressed in their large black jumpers and shiny shoes, shed their ties and began to unbutton their shirts as they piled onto buses or traipsed down the pavement in the direction of their houses. Adults were thinking about starting to prepare the dinner or finishing the last of their work before gathering their belongings and attempting to make it home before rush-hour. Leslie Corren tried to picture these people, these ordinary people, from her place on the ground beneath the sycamore tree. The small, slight girl lay on her back, half hidden in the jungle of waist-length grass. Her unruly tangle of golden ringlets were spread out like a cushion behind her head, her delicate lids were closed tightly over her dark blue eyes and just the hint of a smile tickled the corners of her rosy lips. After many hours spent outside in this peaceful hollow, she had found that if she let herself drift away, she could catch a glimpse of the rooves of the identical houses that lined either side of a damp, grey street; see into the gardens that were full to bursting with flowers or clustered with sandpits and climbing frames. Occasionally, if she was able to search hard enough, she could even see into the lives of the normal, average people that lived in these houses and sat in these gardens; she could imagine for a few minutes what it would be like to have no worries; to have who should I sit beside on the bus? or what should I wear tomorrow? as the only questions clouding her mind. Then reality would tumble down on top of her at the sound of a door slamming or the creaking of one of the branches overhead. This time, it was Mr Henderson's voice that dragged her back to the present; "Les?" his hand found her shoulder and gently shook it. "Leslie? Wake up!" Leslie peeled her eyes open. Grey clouds were gathering in the otherwise clear sky, threatening to swallow the sun in their dark folds. The cool wind whispered through Adelaire's bare grounds, shifting the bricks of the crumbling stone wall and shifting the debris that lay scattered on the ground. Long grass tickled her bare arms as she pulled myself up into a sitting. Mr Henderson's face was a couple of inches away from her own. His pale skin was dented with premature wrinkles, his blonde hair streaked with white and his young green eyes had been long ago stripped of their innocence. "I wasn't sleeping," Leslie replied. "Good," Mr Henderson said, taking her arm and helping her to her feet. "You have to come with me! And hurry - we can't get caught out here!" "But why?" Leslie protested. "You said I could have 'till five today!" "Mrs Yule wants you in her office! Now!" "How come she wants me? I haven't done anything wrong!" when Leslie saw the look that Mr Henderson was giving her, she quickly countered herself, "Well, nothing that she could ever find out about." "She said that she'd recieved a letter for you. That was it." "A letter? From who? I've never even met anybody from outside Adelaire." Mr Henderson shrugged. He was already running, sprinting at full speed through the undergrowth. With her arm tightly linked with his, Leslie allowed him to pull her along with him. Stumbling over tree roots and tugging her jeans free of bramble bushes, they fled the forest. She could hear her heart beating in time with the thump of her trainers hitting the hard ground; could feel her lungs burning white hot pain as she pushed herself onwards; see nothing but the seemingly endless road that led up to Adelaire. A stitch throbbed in her side and she wanted nothing more than to flop down onto the cool grass that grew on either side of the track. "Just a little further," Mr Henderson promised, pulling her against his side as he quickened his pace. Across the close-cut lawn, through the wooden double doors, up the winding staircase and then finally they had arrived. After a moment in which he took to catch his breath, Mr Henderson entered the office, Leslie hot on his heels. The room was smaller than she had expected. Humid air wreathed around her as she stepped through the doorway, and the smell of decay hit her nostrils. "Sorry about the delay, Mrs Yule," Mr Henderson apologised. "Corren was hiding down in the cellar - it took me ages to find her." "Do not waste anymore of my time with your poor excuses, Henderson," came the reply. "And in the future, wait to be invited before you barge into my office. You may leave." Mr Henderson winked at Leslie on his way past, closing the door behind him. "Sit down, Miss Corren," the voice drifted out from behind a large stack of paper. Leslie obliged without protest, perching herself on the very edge of the hard wood opposite the founder's desk. "Mrs Yule," she began hesitantly after a long while of silence. She made sure to speak with impeccable manner, to sit up straightly and not to slouch. After all, she thought bitterly, Adelaire had taken me in purely out of the kindness of their hearts. The least that I can do is to treat everybody here with the utmost respect. "Mrs Yule," Leslie continued. "I was just wondering if you could tell me why I am here?" It was a known fact that if ever anybody did anything even slightly imperfect, they would be sent up to the founder's office and would often never return. Thinking back, Leslie couldn't remember anything that she had done wrong; she had taken extra care when sneaking out into the forest, she hadn't stolen any food or had any fights with the other children. She had even made her bed. Mrs Yule chuckled softly, pushing the pile of parchment to the side so that Leslie was able to see her face. She was an elderly woman with long white hair that fell down her back. Although she may have been pretty at one point, her looks had sunk into the folds of her deep wrinkle. All that remained of her earlier beauty was her blue eyes; pale, sparkling and icily cold. "Don't fret, Miss Corren," she assured Leslie. Her smile was yellow and sickeningly sweet. "I am not worried about your behaviour." I held her gaze calmly, despite the fact that my mind was clouded with confusion. The only other reason that a child was sent to the founder's office was if- I quickly shook the thought out of my head, extinguishing the tiny ember of hope that had flickered to life inside the pit of my stomach. It wasn't possible. "What I have here with me is, to you, both bad news and good news," Mrs Yule went on. She paused while I waited expectantly. "The good news is that you have been accepted into a school of witchcraft and wizardry." Leslie felt my heart skip a beat. She, of all people, had been accepted into magical school? Her astonishment was apparently crystal clear on her face, as Mrs Yule carried on without hesitation. "Although you will be given the opportunity to learn the ways of a sorcerer, this school is truly the lowest of the low. Elvindor Academy of Magic allows any old riff-raff to enter through its doors." Leslie couldn't help but notice Mrs Yule's patronizing tone of voice and the disapproving glint in her eyes. She considered her as any old riff-raff. Stifling a sigh, Leslie realized that she was right. She was a nobody. An orphaned, half-breed of unknown blood status nobody. "I trust you want to attend this school?" Mrs Yule's voice dragged her back to reality. Leslie nodded instantly. "Yes, of course I do," she agreed. "Excellent," Mrs Yule announced. "All of the books and equipment that you require has already been owled to me. The only other essential that you shall need is a wand." The founder of Adelaire rose from her chair and walked steadily over to Leslie's side. "Stand up, girl." Leslie looked up in surprise, a single word slipping from her mouth before I could stop it, "Why?" "The wandmaker that I have spoken to insists that you be there in person," Mrs Yule replied, glaring. "Apparently, the wand has to choose the wizard. All a load of codswallop in my opinion. Nevertheless, we must see to his wishes." Still bewildered, Leslie struggled to her feet to stand by the older lady's side. "Take my hand." Leslie jerked my head up, startled. Why would Mrs Yule want her tainted hands touching her pure-blooded perfection? "Excuse me?" Leslie asked incredulously. "Take my hand," Mrs Yule repeated. Hesitantly, Leslie reached out for her wrist. As soon as her fingers touched her bare skin, knowledge seemed to rush through her. Suddenly, the concept of holding Mrs Yule's hand didn't seem quite so strange. "Are we going to-" Everything darkened, so much so that all Leslie could see was deep, heavy black, swirling all around her. She was falling, though in which direction, she could not be sure. All she knew was that there was no longer ground beneath her feet and her chest was tightening as all of the air left her body. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think and whatever she was falling through was becoming increasingly smaller, squishing and squeezing me down, up or to the end of where ever she was going. It felt as though there were heavy weights pushing against her head and at any moment, her skull would shatter. Then she was on the ground. Grass, still wet wish morning dew, pressed against her cheek and the sounds of footsteps and speaking came from nearby. Disorientated, Leslie sat up to find herself on a patch of lawn on the corner of a pavement. Witches and wizards of all shapes and sizes were bustling along around her, all carrying bags full of carious different purchased items. "Did I-" "Just perform Side-Along Apparition?" Mrs Yule cut across Leslie. "Yes. Now get up, girl. We are rather short on time." ---- It took a lot of effort, but after a moment, Leslie was standing in an upright position. Trying to ignore the dizziness that nibbled at the corners of her mind, threatening to swallow her in a wave of blurry colours and strange movement, she stumbled over to where Mrs Yule was waiting. "When am I going to Elvindor?" she managed to ask her as they walked down the street, heading for an old building with a battered, well-worn door. "The last carriage leaves tomorrow morning," Mrs Yule told her shortly, entering the shop. Dazed, Leslie followed quickly after her, only to find herself in a small room containing three simple pieces of furniture; a chair, a counter and a vase full of dead flowers on a shelf. Dust and cobwebs lined every surface and a floorboard creaked beneath her. "I have come to collect a wand for Miss Leslie Corren," Mrs Yule declared. For a minute, Leslie was certain that she was speaking to herself, before she noticed an old man standing behind the desk. His greying hair stuck out in whispy tufts and as his silvery eyes turned on her, she felt a shiver run down her spine. "Ah yes," he murmured, reaching down to pick up a long, thin box. "From Adelaire Institute, if I remember correctly. Come, come; I've already looked one out for you." Nervously, Leslie moved forwards, reaching for the smooth, pale stick that the man was holding out to her. She smiled to herself as she felt the well-polished wood beneath her fingers. "91/2 inches, birch, centaur hair core," the man told her. "Give it a wave." Doing as she was told, Leslie dragged the wand in an upwards motion. Behind her, she heard a load crack and suddenly, a whirl-wind of similar looking cases flew through the door behind the desk and fell to the ground with a large crash. Horrified, Leslie thrust the wand onto the counter. The man however, didn't seem at all bothered by the mess that littered the edges of the room, but was staring intently at Leslie's feet. Unsettled, she glanced down to see one of the boxes, well away from the others. It was a shade of deep purple, many different symbols covering the lid and a piece of pale lace had been wrapped around it in a bow. Kneeling down to open it, the man revealed a long, slender wand. It was made from dark, rich wood and a piece of leafy vine had been twirled around the handle. Ancient runes had been carved deeply into it. "Well I never," the man muttered, seemingly talking to himself. "I didn't think this one would sell, but it seems to be rather attached to you already. I bought two wands from a traveller, you see, only to find that they were exactly the same. I assumed that they would both go to the same person, but the owner of this one's twin could only work one of them. What was her name again?" The man paused, thinking. "Ah yes, Frost. Rowan Frost." Shaking his head, he got up from the floor and handed the wand to Leslie. At once, warmth flooded through her and the pain from her scars ebbed away. Across the room, the dead flowers sprang back to life and the mess of wand cases drifted up into the air and back into the store. When Leslie turned back to the wandmaker, she noticed for the first time the silvery light that was being emitted from the tip of the wand. "Amazing!" the man exclaimed. "Simply breathtaking!" Grinning, Leslie laid the wand back into its place, my hand brushing the velvet that lined the inside of the case. "Vine, 12½ inches, pheonix feather core ," the man told her. "Five Galleons." Mrs Yule, who's presence Leslie had completely forgotten, got up from the small chair in the corner and paid the money. Thanking the man, Leslie followed her hurriedly out of the shop and they began to make our way up to the top of the street. Mrs Yule gripped her hand and she squeezed my eyes tightly shut as we Apparated. ---- Mr Henderson stood by the main entrance. His purple shirt, emblazoned with the Adelaire Institute logo, was badly creased. One black trouser leg was tucked into his sock and the laces of his battered shoes trailed along the ground. Light brown hair stuck out from the back of his head in tufts and sleep blurred his green eyes. As milky dawn light poured in through the window behind him and the chattering of the early rising birds driften in from outside, he opened his mouth in a wide yawn. If he were to have it his way, nobody would get up before ten o'clock in the morning. It would be considered madness. "Why are you here?" the accusing voice sliced through his hazy thoughts. "It's not your shift!" Mr Henderson broke into a wide grin when he caught sight of the approaching girl. Her golden hair as wild and untamed as ever, Leslie Corren's face was alight with excitement. She was wrapped up in a red raincoat that was at least two sizes too big and trailing a large brown suitcase. "I couldn't let you leave without saying goodbye so I asked Droverly if I could take his turn at the door," Mr Henderson explained. "He didn't complain." Leslie stopped beside him and he pulled her into a hug. ---- With a heavy sigh, I sat myself down on the small brick wall and began to take in my surroundings. The carriage had followed an over-grow country road for two and a half hours before dropping me off here, in the middle of nowhere.I was facing a steep slope that led to the base of a mountain range. The gigantic rock formations reached high up into the cloudless blue sky, their peaks snow-capped even now, on the last day of August. There was not a dwelling to be seen on the barren landscape in front of me, although there may well have been a whole city lurking in the dense pine forest behind. To make matters worse, whoever was supposed to be meeting me wasn't here. I would be alone, if it were not for my owl. "Great," I didn't realize that I was speaking aloud until the words escaped my mouth. "Just amazing." My voice echoed around the hollow that I was sitting it. Somewhere nearby, a startled bird cawed, abandoning its perch. I watched enviously as it took flight, soaring over the hills until it was no more than a mere brown speck in the distance. It was lucky. It could escape. "Sorry to keep you waiting." Surprised, I leaped to my feet, turning around. Through the long stems of green grass, a man appeared. He was tall and young; by the looks of it, in his mid twenties or, at a stretch, his early thirties. Everything about him seemed purposeful, from the neatly cropped stubble running along his lower jaw, to the jet-black hair that covered his head in a scruffy yet carefully placed manner. Sparkling green eyes shone from behind his glasses, which were small, rectangular and placed in such a perfect position that I wouldn't have been surprised if he had spent hours adjusting them so that they rested on just the right place of his nose. He was wearing a new black cloak without a hint of a crease or stain on it, but, as I peered more closely at him, I realized that he had put it on to hide his other clothes. Underneath, he had on a tattered, pale blue shirt that was scattered with dirty patches, and light brown trousers that had been torn and patched in many places. His shoes, that had once been smart and black, had been worn so much that they looked a mixture of grey and mud and were practically falling apart. "I got a little lost on my way here," the man held out his hand. "I'm Professor Moon. I'll be teaching History of Magic." Hesitantly, I took it. His grip was firm but gentle and his skin was rough but soft. This, however, was not what I found surprising about him. As soon as my fingers brushed his, a message shot to my mind, erasing all other thoughts and repeating itself over and over again. Untrustworthy, untrustworthy, untrustworthy. I pulled away abruptly, shocked. Although Professor Moon, on first impression, seemed a perfectly pleasant and respectable man, I had to play it safe. I was unbelievably lucky to have been accepted into Elvindor Academy of magic, despite what Mrs Yule said, so if I was not careful, I could crush a million possibilities in a heartbeat. “I’m Leslie,” I told Professor Moon finally. “Leslie Vide.” “I guessed,” was his only reply. With that, he turned away from me, pulling out what appeared to be an old map from one of his pockets. Holding it with one hand, he then proceeded to study it silently and carefully, glancing up at the large hill in front of us every so often. After what seemed like an age, the Professor folded up the piece of tattered parchment and hid it back where it had come from. “I’m afraid we have a fair hike,” he said suddenly. “We’ll be lucky if we reach the game-keepers hut by nightfall, so I think it would be a good idea if we set off now.” Pausing, he raised an arm to point out a rocky outcrop on the left side of the closest mountain. If I squinted, I could just make out a small cottage, painted white with black window-frames. “We’ll be meeting another teacher there – Professor Lurpim , I think – and a student the same age as you. If all goes to plan, we’ll stay the night there and continue the rest of the journey tomorrow.” Professor Moon smiled slightly at my startled expression – I had imagined that it would be a five minute or so walk to the school – and beckoned me forwards. There was a thin earth trail that appeared to lead the way to the base of the mountains. At the moment, the ground sloped steeply downwards, so it would be an easy trek for a while. And, I reasoned, at the I was no longer trapped inside the walls of Adelaire. That was always a good thing. There was one thing, however – two actually – that troubled me about this whole experience. Wherever I looked was dense wilderness; apart from the occasional bird or rabbit, there were no other living beings. There were no children, no other professors, and no nothing. “Where is everybody else?” I wondered aloud. “Why aren’t there any other students arriving?” Professor Moon peered down at me thoughtfully, as if he were wondering whether or not to share with me what he knew. “You’re very lucky to be here,” he announced after a moment. “Although Elvindor had acquired a reputation for taking in… different person, the Headmistress doesn’t do this willingly. She’s made a deal with the Minister of Magic; as Elvindor has very low… standards, shall we say, the Minister had agreed that if she takes in those that wouldn’t usually have a chance of education elsewhere, he’ll keep this school open. The Headmistress isn’t very happy about this, so she tends to make the half-breeds and muggleborns walk while everybody else travels by horse and carriage.” I glanced quickly at Professor Moon. Had he realized that I was a half-breed, or was he just assuming that I was muggle-born? If he was, as I had though, untrustworthy, than I truly hoped that he had not. Professor Moon had continued not to speak and I was not going to bombard him with any more questions, so I took this silence as a chance to soak up my surroundings. We were still following the mud track downwards. Long, lush stems of green grass – some as tall as myself – grew around us on all sides. Here and there were a few scrubs or scraggily bushes, but the meadow seemed otherwise empty. The full moon of the previous had drained all of my energy; I was already beginning to tire and the mountains ahead still seemed like years away. ---- "Take my hand," Professor Moon urged. "It's very steep here." By now it was late afternoon and after scrabbling over seemingly endless amounts of boulders, we were finally making progress. A strong wind with a definite bite to it cut through the air, making me wish that I had taken a jacket from my suitcase. Shivering slightly, I grasped hold of Professor Moon's outstretched arm gratefully and allowed him to help me up the narrow stone path. Made on the-dark-arts; unfortunately, I don't think it uploaded where it should have... Category:Fan Fic Series Category:SmudgyHollz's Fanfictions